


The Janitor

by somethingsintheair



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Gen, but nothing goes anywhere, music video fic, rated for Language and a couple comments but that's about it, synthesize her, the girl is 18 in the fic in case anyone's concerned, this is dumb and corny and it's supposed to be like that i've accepted it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 14:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14718216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingsintheair/pseuds/somethingsintheair
Summary: His hands moved smoothly through the air, in rhythm with the eerie green glow. From out of nowhere, a thick fog poured into the room. The table was shaking like an earthquake.





	The Janitor

**Author's Note:**

> That music video was super cool and I wanted to write a sort of backstory for it! If this seems super dumb it's because it is. It's supposed to be. Enjoy!

The variety show was in one week, and things weren’t going so well. A strange tension sat between Jenny and Claire, but neither of them were quite sure why. They planned on performing together, as usual, but they hadn’t done much actual rehearsing in the same room. Even as they walked down the hall together, they didn’t speak, just sparing the occasional glance in the other’s direction.

And then, Jenny saw him.

She didn’t know what it was about him, but he always managed to tear her attention away from whatever she was doing. He was just so... breathtaking. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he made up for that in muscle mass. When he smiled and waved at her with one of his ridiculously buff arms, she blushed and waved right back.

“You need to get off this janitor shit, Jen,” Claire’s voice sounded after he’d passed by, tearing Jenny away from her reverie. “He’s super creepy. And, like... thirty, or something.”

Jenny pouted and hugged her books to her chest. “He’s nice. What has he ever done that’s creepy?” she asked. “And don’t say the mustache. You can’t judge a guy by his facial hair.”

“Actually, you totally can,” Claire replied. “He looks like he’s auditioning for some awful 80s porno.”

“Oh, gross, don’t say that.” Jenny scrunched up her nose. “He’s a nice guy, we’ve talked before. And I don’t think he’s the type to go for something like that.”

“Oh, good, glad you’re an expert on him now,” Claire said with a roll of her eyes. “But I don’t wanna go over this again. Have you been rehearsing the music I gave you for next week?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Jenny said with a wave of her hand. Then, much quieter, “I may have... made some modifications, is all.”

“You _what?”_ Claire snapped, which gained some attention from passersby in the hallway. She looked around, huffed and pulled Jenny aside to yell-whisper instead. _“What?”_

“We do that song every year, Claire,” Jenny said. “Everyone’s heard it already. So I tried to... jazz up my parts a little. For fun.”

“It doesn’t need _jazzing up,”_ Claire said. “You know I worked hard on that, it’s important to me.”

“I’m not saying it’s bad, I’m just saying it could use a little… remixing,” Jenny replied. “If we’re gonna do the same thing as last year, it needs a little something extra.”

“Oh?” Claire crossed her arms. “Maybe it just needs a pianist that doesn’t suck!”

Jenny’s jaw dropped. “Don’t try to make this about me and my musical skills,” she said. “I’m great at what I do, and I don’t need someone else to write boring music for me to play.”

“What, are you gonna start an act without me?” Claire scoffed.

“Maybe I will!” Jenny answered before she walked off. Yeah, she could do it. She could find her own piano, write her own music, and rock Claire’s socks right off. She was perfectly capable of--

“Hey, everything okay?”

Jenny jumped at the sound of a voice right behind her, and all her books hit the floor. She dropped down to pick them up, but froze when she realized who had crouched down beside her.

_The janitor._

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said with a little smile on his face. His voice was always so soft and gentle. Given, it didn’t match his burly figure in the slightest, but it was certainly easy on the ears.

“No, no, I’m sorry, Mr. Sung,” Jenny stuttered. She was pretty sure her hands were shaking as she took her books from his brawny arms. “Thank you very much.”

“Oh, no worries,” he replied. Once they both stood up, his smile faded back into a concerned frown. “But, really, did something happen?” he asked. “You looked... really upset there.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Jenny replied as she looked down at the floor. She couldn’t look at him, not now. “Just had a little argument with my friend. We were gonna perform in the variety show together, but it’s not really working out. I guess we’ve always had some... creative differences.”

“Yeah?” Sung asked. “What kinds of creative differences?”

Jenny shrugged. “She just gives me... the same boring music,” she said. “Every time. She only wants to play her own stuff, and I just want to play something fun.”

“Well... I’m sure you could pull something off on your own,” Sung replied. “If she’s not willing to compromise, maybe it’s time you branch out by yourself, huh?

“How am I supposed to do that?” Jenny asked.

“You can do it, you just have to give the crowd a little something extra.” Sung smiled. “Something only you can show them.”

Jenny shook her head. “I don’t even have my own piano,” she said, “And they won’t let me rehearse with the one in the auditorium anymore. I’m screwed.”

Mr. Sung didn’t respond, which prompted Jenny to look up at him again. He had a knowing look on his face, a smirk that made his mustache a little crooked.

It made her considerably nervous.

* * *

The maintenance room wasn’t exactly the prettiest place in the school, but Jenny wasn’t about to complain. Mr. Sung had given her absolutely everything she needed, from specific blueprints and notes to all the spare parts she could ever need. He hadn’t said much to her, but he didn’t have to. All he did was smile when she thanked him, and once he stepped out of the room, she was off to work.

For the next week, Jenny spent every spare moment she had in that maintenance room, working away at her new project. She spent the first few days deciphering the notes in front of her, all written in nearly illegible chicken scratch. But once she had that all figured out, she got to the actual building part, wiring and rewiring and screwing panels and other pieces into place. By the end of the week, she had a functioning instrument-- it wasn’t anything pretty, of course, she wasn’t expecting that. But it did what it was supposed to, and that’s all that mattered.

She was ready just in time, too.

As she put on the finishing touches,the show had already begun, so she threw a cover over her new creation before she rushed towards the auditorium. She wanted to scope out her competition, of course. She was set to perform last, so she had plenty of time to check things out.

The acts she saw were wonderful, some a little weirder than others, but Jenny was just happy to see people having fun and showcasing what they loved. As her own cue got closer, she rushed back towards the maintenance room, excited as ever. She had this in the bag, she was gonna wow the crowd, and Claire would--

Jenny’s heart sank the moment she opened the maintenance room door. Her work was in shambles. Smashed to pieces. What was previously a homemade synthesizer was now just a pile of broken pieces on the table.

She wanted to cry.

She ran out into the hallway, her hands shaking. She could hear Claire’s stupid fucking ukulele song coming from the auditorium, so she knew she had to get out of there fast. Her vision was blurry with tears as she ran out of the building and sat herself down against the concrete wall. She knew her cue was coming up, she knew they would be waiting for her in there. But there was nothing she could do! She couldn’t pull off a week’s worth of work in five minutes, especially not with broken parts. The only thing she could do was give up and make herself scarce.

She saw a strange green glow coming from the window, and slowly, sat up to peer inside. 

The… _janitor?_

Jenny blinked. Was she dreaming, or was Mr. Sung performing some sort of magic on her broken synthesizer?

His hands moved smoothly through the air, in rhythm with the eerie green glow. From out of nowhere, a thick fog poured into the room. The table was shaking like an earthquake.

At that point, she figured she was more than likely dreaming, but she decided to run back inside anyway to see what the fuck was going on. By the time she made it back to the maintenance room, Mr. Sung was gone without a trace.

No, there was definitely one thing he left on that table.

Jenny’s eyes were wide as she stared down at the instrument in all its glory. A shiny silver keytar, brand new and just waiting to be played. Her smile lit up the room as she picked it up, slowly and carefully.

It was perfect.


End file.
